


open me up and i'll tell only the truth

by Syster



Series: No Drug Like Me [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alpha Mark Tuan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Jackson has a vagina, M/M, Omega Jackson Wang, but is very much male
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syster/pseuds/Syster
Summary: The problem with flash ruts is that while they are a lot shorter than a proper (tm) rut, they are kind of... like, they’re a pain in the fucking ass. If they’re lucky, Mark spends a night humping a pillow while biting into his own forearm. If they’re unlucky, Mark goes into rut fever and is out of commission for a week.You know, unless they can somehow find an omega willing to spend a night with him which would lessen the chances of the second outcome by a lot. Okay, fine, Mark’s not going to play humble, he could definitely find an omega willing to spend a night with him, but he can’t just pick someone up. That's kind of part of him being an idol and all.So. Uh. Thank God for Jackson or something?or; Mark goes into sudden rut, Jackson Wang is apparently an omega and very willing to help his hyung out.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Series: No Drug Like Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110158
Comments: 36
Kudos: 119





	open me up and i'll tell only the truth

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd.
> 
> the genitalia gave me a headache, so i just decided to go with what felt right. so jackson has a pussy, and that's just the way we're gonna roll.
> 
> title from CRJ's no drug like me.

So, _apparently_ , stress can trigger a flash rut. Who woulda thunk?

...Okay, fine. Most people woulda thunk. It’s not, like, rocket science or anything. Flash ruts are triggered by heightened emotions and overproduction of stress hormones that affect the amygdala (as told to Mark and a lot of other very uncomfortable young alphas, betas, and omegas in seventh grade by their dispassionate alpha gym teacher with a chronic piece of parsley stuck in her teeth). So, logically, being stressed triggers stress hormones, which in turn makes the amygdala believe there is danger and after some prolonged exposure, it triggers a flash rut in some kind of desperate attempt to give you the extra strength and, uh, _motivation_ to get out of whatever situation that’s triggering the stress.

Which was, like, great when the stressful situation was being hunted by a bear or a shark, but not so much when the source of your stress is due to stuff like a lot of travel, a lack of sleep, and overexposure to social interactions carrying ill-defined expectations (Mark fucking hates variety shows). 

The problem hasn’t really been that Mark can’t put two and two together regarding stress, but rather that he... kind of didn’t know he was stressed? Like, this is his dream. He loves performing, he loves his fans, he loves his members — fledgling pack as they are — so the... non-sleeping, the weird appetite, the fact that he hasn’t eaten a full meal for almost three weeks, he just attributed it to being busy. He, honestly, didn’t know he was stressed.

And that’s what he’s going to tell Jaebeom tomorrow when they’ve gotten this flash rut over and done with and Jaebeom is going to do his duty as pack leader and make sure this doesn’t happen again by having a long excruciating talk about expectations and self-care (even though both Mark and Jaebeom would prefer to just duke it out in a pit somewhere). It’s what he tried telling the others over breakfast when he’d suddenly started sweating and growling over the way Bambam’s coltish alpha pheromones had been just a little bit too strong. 

Ah, _shit_ , he’ll have to apologize to Bambam, when all of this is done and over. When he no longer wants to assert his dominance over the loud, excitable alpha as though they were still creatures of the sea rather than a rising idol group in modern fucking society where you do _not_ do things like bite peoples necks (non-lethally, of course, it’s Bammie) to make them calm down when they’re being too loud way too early in the morning.

The problem with flash ruts is that while they are a lot shorter than a proper (tm) rut, they are kind of... like, they’re a pain in the fucking ass. If they’re lucky, Mark spends a night humping a pillow while biting into his own forearm. If they’re unlucky, Mark goes into rut fever and is out of commission for a week. 

You know, unless they can somehow find an omega willing to spend a night with him which would lessen the chances of the second outcome by a lot. Okay, fine, Mark’s not going to play humble, he could definitely find an omega willing to spend a night with him, but he can’t just pick someone up. That's kind of part of him being an idol and all.

So. Uh. Thank God for Jackson or something? Because Jackson had just volunteered right before Mark and Jaebeom veered into the kind of fight that would be hard to come back from.

They hadn't even known Jackson was an omega. He says that part of his inner narrative out loud, because he's feeling rather woozy, trying to construct something at least resembling a passable nest while Jackson is sitting on the edge of the bed watching him with large, curious eyes.

"A pretty shitty omega, to be fair," Jackson grins, leaning forward and resting his chin on the knuckles of his hand, "It's not that much of a wonder that none of you guessed."

"But you're... a beta in Korea?" Mark asks, holding out his hands for the towel Jackson just used after his shower, wet and thick-scented, to place it amongst the pillows that he's bunched up along the headboard, underneath the one side of the blanket he's been kneading into shape for the last five minutes.

"Yeah," Jackson shrugs, "Korea has a lot more defined lines between the secondaries than Hong Kong, and I fall pretty evenly on the line between beta and omega, so I kind of... was allowed to choose? Or well, I was evaluated, but in the end they were willing to put whatever on my medical papers as long as I took blockers and birth control," and then Jackson stretches, the long, lean line of his body clear through the thin fabric of his pajamas, "And like I said, I'm a pretty shitty omega."

And, like... Yeah, Jackson looks a lot like a beta. He's short, sure, and he has to work pretty hard to not be waifishly thin-waisted (something he complains about, at length, only beaten out by his constant hatred towards his short legs), but otherwise, Jackson has all the signifiers of a beta. Except that right now, right at this moment, Jackson isn't on his blockers, and Mark's sense of smell is heightened, and the scent of Jackson's slick speaks its own language. Fuck. It smells really good. Mark carefully pats the blanket spread out over the bed, despairing at the lack of time to make a proper nest, but this will just have to do. It smells like him and Jackson, at least, and it's in their shared room, which helps soothe the prickly feeling of needing to fuss.

"Are you really okay with this?" Mark asks, trembling with the shiver of rut settling into his bones now that the nest is done, the air in his lungs feeling hot and restrictive, like there's too much of it and too little of it all at once. At least the haze hasn't set in yet, and he can still have a conversation.

"Of course. You're my pack," Jackson says easily, shrugging his broad shoulders as he removes his shirt, revealing tan skin and defined muscle. Mark's breath stutters a bit as he is confronted by all that easy affection that Jackson seems to give so easily. All that affection given despite Jackson also being one of the pettiest people Mark has ever met. It's contradictory, to have someone that would stand between you and a bullet, but then will also not stop bringing up that one time you took too big of a bite of his ice cream sandwich three years ago.

Mark swallows, unsure of what to say. He's never been talkative, but he feels like he should be since they're about to spend his rut together. He wants to make sure there is some desire there, not just pack-loyalty. He tries to get the words out but is soon distracted by Jackson pulling down his sweatpants, kicking them off to land somewhere by the bed. But as though sensing what Mark wants to say, Jackson gives a grin and answers the unspoken question.

"And, beyond that, you're very pretty. So, yeah, I've thought about it," he crawls onto the bed on his knees, settling himself into Mark's lap, the insides of his thighs already gleaming with slick, even though some of it has to be stopped by Jackson's boxers. The scent — Mark can't stop his nose from flaring, and Jackson giggles a bit at the sight, grinding his hips down into Mark's lap, at the heavy cock swelling thicker by the second.

"Oh," Mark says in response to that, which is particularly tight-lipped even for him. He swallows around the scent of Jackson's slick, and around the rising haze of his rut, placing his hands at the gentle little dip of Jackson's hips. More a beta than an omega, Jackson had said, earlier at the breakfast table while Mark had been busy trying to not murder Jaebeom for breathing wrong in his general direction, but no matter what he is, Mark is sure as hell reacting to it. He finds himself wanting to preen underneath Jackson's gaze, to show off the sharpness of his teeth and the strong line of his waist, to show just how pretty he can be. And beyond that, Mark wants to prove himself. He kind of wants to show Jackson how good he is at doing flips, and finds himself looking around their shared, cramped room, calculating whether or not he can do any without breaking something, like a lamp or his own leg.

"Easy, Markie, don't look like that," Jackson says, his hoarse voice warm and fond, as he shifts his weight in Mark’s lap, nosing into Mark's hair, gently fussing over the soft strands until Mark's eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch, "I really don't want to watch you kill and skin something with your teeth."

"I could do it though," Mark murmurs, tilting his head so that Jackson can groom the other side of his head as well, "I could totally kill something and bring it back to you," He'd do it nicely too, and only bring the best bits back to Jackson to eat. All the fatty, nutritional organs presented to Jackson like a feast. Maybe then Jackson would sit still, full and content, while he watched Mark do his coolest gymnastics tricks.

"I know," Jackson murmurs, smiling, pressing a soft kiss against Mark's cheek, rubbing their noses together as his breath ghosts over Mark's lips, "With all those lovely sharp teeth? I bet you could kill me a bear."

Mark gives a low, agreeing growl, and snaps his teeth together for show, and at the sight of them, Jackson gives a low thrill of a coo, rumbling the sound in his chest. Oh. Mark thinks, blinking happily at the sound, feeling the heat of his blood settle into something less of a haze and more of a controlled fire, oh, that's nice. When Jackson spreads his legs and grinds down, gliding the wettening fabric of his boxers against Mark's bulge, Mark snarls, gliding his hands to rest in the slight flare of Jackson's hips.

Jackson's thick thighs are spread on either side of Mark's thin hips, and Mark brings his hands down to grip at the thick, heavy muscle, to pat and dig his fingers into the flush of Jackson’s thighs. Jackson murmurs happily at that, spreading himself wider, arching his back, tilting his head so that Mark can nose at his jaw, find the spot where Jackson's scent is the strongest and breathe it in.

Mark’s fever is spiking, and he finds the thought almost disconcerting in its clarity. Because somehow, he knows that it's the last coherent, non-rut thought he's going to have until he's knotted Jackson, and that makes it feel somehow odd and discombobulated from the rest of him. A spike of pain strikes through him, a flare of arousal so strong it hurts, and Mark whines as it pulses through him, strikes his blood into fire and heat.

At the sound of the whine, Jackson mouths a soothing kiss against Mark's jaw, nipping at the skin with his teeth to center the pain into focus. Mark whines again, panting as he grinds his hips upwards, seeking the slick friction of Jackson's cunt.

"Not enough, hyung?" Jackson murmurs, placing one hand over the one Mark has on his thigh, digging in hard enough to leave bruises, "Okay, let me —" he spreads his legs, slips his other hand between his legs, slides his fingers between the glistening wet staining his thighs, brings them up to spread it next to Mark's lips.

The strong, sharp scent of omega makes Mark gasp and his eyes flutter shut as he flickers out a tongue to taste at it, to lick at Jackson's wet fingers. It's not just slick, it's _Jackson's_ slick, the tangents of its sharp scent recognizable as pack and trust, and the pain dulls just slightly, shifts and shivers into anticipation.

Fuck. Mark can feel the heat of Jackson's cunt against the bulge of his cock, even through the two layers of fabric. _Fuck_.

"Easy," Jackson hums, "We can't start yet, I need to warm up, I have to dance tomorrow, I can't be all torn up —"

Mark whimpers, grinds his hips upwards, and Jackson laughs, locks his thighs tight around Mark's hips, settles his weight a bit firmer, thrills the gentle tone of patience through the rumbling in his chest, _patience, alpha_.

"I want to — ah, _fuck_ — touch," Mark gasps, "Let me touch, a-Jia'er." He slides a hand between Jackson's thighs, moves them between the soaked fabric of Jackson's boxers, feeling the heat and slick from Jackson's wet cunt. He plays like that for a while, losing himself in the feeling of slick against his fingers, in the sound of wet fabric, in the outline of the Jackson’s arousal-swollen vulva underneath the thin, cotton fabric. Jackson sighs, a sound carrying the reverberant quality of a half-purr, wraps his arms around Mark's neck, lifting himself up a bit to allow Mark better access.

When Mark finds the swollen nub of Jackson's clit, Jackson pants, presses a gentle little whimper against Mark's ear, grinds his hips down, deep enough so that Mark's fingers slide in between the lips of his cunt, making the fabric stick to the wet inner lips. The flare of arousal at the sight, at the feel, at the answering little whimper from Jackson, doesn't hurt, but it's intense enough to sink him into single-minded focus, into the deep haze of his rut.

He digs his fingers into the fabric, into the soaked fabric, pulls and stretches it out until it rips, the fabric tearing easily underneath his arousal-fueled strength.

"Oh, come _on_ , Yi-en, don’t —" Jackson groans, faltering as Mark's fingers start exploring the soaking wet heat of his cunt, fingers gliding through the gushing slick with a lewd, almost frothy, sound, "Fuck —" Jackson moans, forgetting to give Mark any kind of disciplining nip. Mark, meanwhile, has wrapped his arm tight around Jackson's waist, keeping him still as he delves his fingers deeper into Jackson's tight, _so fucking tight_ , and wet heat.

Mark licks his lips, feels the tight and dry skin of his lips pull at the action, growling a bit as Jackson makes him remove his fingers from Jackson’s pussy so that Jackson can pull off the torn-up boxers, tucking the strongly-scented fabric underneath one of Mark’s pillows. Thank God Jackson is in front of him, slick staining his thighs, smelling strong and sweetly like omega, because otherwise Mark would’ve done something embarrassing, like dug his teeth into the torn-up fabric, whimpering around the wet scent as he ground into nothing but air.

A gentle little thrill from Jackson, low and raspy, carrying the same weight as his vibrato when he sings, and Mark blinks lazily, breathes around his hot, burning arousal to place his fingers back against Jackson’s wet folds, pressing the pads of his fingers against slick, hot, sensitive skin. All he wants to do is wrestle Jackson down, press him against the sheets, fuck into him hard and harsh, but that can come later, it _has_ to come later. He slips a finger into Jackson’s wet entrance, the glide almost sinfully smooth, using the thumb of the same hand to press against the glistening, exposed clitoris. Jackson groans, hips twitching, murmuring praise into Mark’s hair as he spreads his thighs a bit wider so that Mark can reach better.

In truth, it won’t matter how many fingers Jackson can take before they fuck, not really, because a knot is still going to be _bigger_ , but it’s more about getting Jackson hot, warm, and loose, get him to a place where the pain of stretch enhances the pleasure and doesn’t dim it.

“Ah,” Jackson moans as Mark slides two fingers inside him, as he presses the hard pad of his palm against Jackson’s inner labia, making Jackson shiver as Mark’s thumb continues its rhythmic press against his clit, “ _Ah_ ,” Jackson arches his back, another gush of slick leaking down over Mark’s hand, his pussy tightening and clenching around Mark’s fingers, “Okay, ah, I think we can —” His body tenses as Mark licks a stripe of wet over his collarbone, tightening his hold around Jackson’s waist as he slides his fingers deeper, presses his thumb harder against Jackson’s clit, “Fuck, _Mark_ , where the fuck did you learn —”

“Around,” Mark growls, his voice low and deep, almost as though it is not meant to be used. He holds Jackson still as he works his fingers into Jackson’s cunt, each little aborted twitch of Jackson’s hips feeling like victory as he slowly grows more pliant underneath Mark’s touch, molding himself around Mark’s dominance. 

He only lets go when Jackson hooks his fingers into the waistband of Mark’s underwear and starts pulling them down, the elastic catching on Mark’s cock as he raises his hips to help ease them off. Mark spreads his slick covered fingers over Jackson’s chest, following the trail with his lips and tongue, his mouth salivating at the taste of Jackson’s sweat and slick.

“Fuck, you’re big,” Jackson groans as his fingers wrap around the heavy, burgeoning swell of Mark’s still thickening cock, “It’s been a while since I had an alpha, I kind of forgot —” 

Mark feels something flare up in him at the mention of _someone else_ , feels the fraying edges of his self-control unravel even further, and that’s _quite_ enough. He growls, purrs low and deep in his chest as he bucks his hips, holds onto Jackson as he flips him over, and holds Jackson down underneath him, pressing his chest against Jackson’s arching back. He snarls, deepening the purr reverberating through his chest, and grinds his hips against the flush flesh of Jackson’s ass and thighs. His cock, heavy and thick, slides between Jackson’s thighs, gliding hard and aching between the wet folds of Jackson’s cunt.

Jackson spreads his legs, widens the stance of his knees, flattening his chest against the sheets. Mark groans at the submission, at the low, soothing coo escaping Jackson’s lips. He bites down at the skin between Jackson’s shoulder blades as the head of his cock slots into place, as he with his next thrust slides deeper, and on his third is completely sheathed inside Jackson’s wet, slick heat. Jackson whines and gives a slow panting breath as he arches down further, spreading himself wide to let Mark thrust deeper.

Fuck. _Fuck_. He can’t — Mark’s next couple of breaths come in broken exhales as he tastes the sweat on Jackson’s skin, as his cock swells into full hardness inside Jackson’s clenching, hot pussy. Both of them groan at that, Jackson whimpering at the feeling of fullness, of Mark’s cock stretching him hot and open. Mark holds Jackson down, crowds him against the nest, heat-blooded and rut-crazed, and yet — he _waits_. He whines, gasping against Jackson’s skin, body trembling with the effort to stay still.

“It’s okay, hyung,” Jackson coos, breath coming quick and fast, his face flushed and warm, his pussy clenching around Mark’s cock, slick glistening down his thighs, staining the air with his hot, sweet scent, “Give it to me, I can take it.”

Mark growls and starts to move. He thrusts hard, hard enough for Jackson to glide forward with each snap of his hips, his cock sliding deep into Jackson’s tight, warm heat. _Tight_ , Mark thinks, opening his mouth to pant wetly against Jackson’s skin, his hands reaching ‘round to grab at Jackson’s plush, strong thighs, spreading them wider as he pushes into Jackson’s cunt, chasing each variation of gasp and whimper Jackson can make.

It is a hard, ruthless pace, but Jackson opens up so sweetly for him, gasping and arching as Mark fucks him hard, skin slapping against skin. The hot, wet slide of Mark’s cock pushes another gush of slick from Jackson’s pussy, creating a sinful duality between the tight heat and the slick glide. He fucks, and takes, and _takes_ , and Jackson bends after his whim, gives and _gives_ and —

Mark’s teeth break the skin as his knot starts to form, pushing against, but not inside, Jackson’s entrance. Still too tight, still — He mewls apologetically as the metallic taste of blood spreads in his mouth, starts to lick at the new bite mark. Jackson purrs back, a reverberant sound, and Mark _feels_ it more than he hears it, feels it vibrate through the both of them as Jackson presses one cheek against the sheets, offers his neck, freeing it up for nips and bites, bares it in submission. Mark _thrills_ at the sight, answering Jackson’s purr with his own as he nips marks of affection into the skin of Jackson’s neck, hips grinding in tight circles to help the knot slot into place.

It won’t take, it can’t take, Jackson’s still too tight, but _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel good. Jackson whines at every press, needy and eager, thighs trembling and spreading, toes curling at every brush of widening knot thrust against his entrance. Jackson feels like _his_. His omega. There's the familiar taste and smell of Jackson’s skin and scent, the rasp and hoarseness of the sounds escaping his throat. There’s even the familiarity of Jackson’s goading, of his incessant pushing, as he giggles and eggs him on with low, broken breaths and teasing trills. 

“Mark-hyung,” Jackson gasps, licking his lips, his eyes open in hooded slits, darkened with desire, “C’mon, baobei, can’t you go harder? Can’t you —”

Mark growls, digs his fingers into the flesh of Jackson’s hips and pounds into him hard, his cock leaking precum, mixing his and Jackson’s scent slick together in an intoxicating mixture that makes his heart beat fast and uneven, that makes his nose flare and his purr deepen, the scent triggering something profoundly feral. He grinds his hips, rolls his weight as the knot thickens and hardens, and after a couple of half-thrusts, it is firm enough to pop into Jackson’s cunt with a deliberate, hard push. Jackson gives a low, punched-out sound and Mark murmurs soft praises as he grinds his hips in small, minute little rolls. The knot expands quickly, once inside, swelling until Jackson’s inner walls no longer give around it, which takes a while. 

And as the knot locks them together, Mark fucks Jackson through the entire process, raking his fingers over Jackson’s skin, teething and nipping against Jackson's neck. Jackson is slowly going limp, gasping as he concentrates on being filled, and every single part of Mark sings at the sight, at the feel, at the scent, at the submission. 

With one last clench of Jackson’s pussy around Mark’s cock, the pressure a slow, quivering tense and release of muscle, barely able to constrict around the sizable swell of the knot, it finally takes. Mark groans as he can no longer move, held tight and in place. With a twitch of his hips, he starts to cum. Jackson whines as the first hot ribbon of cum spill inside him. He whimpers when Mark leans back, his arm wrapped around Jackson’s waist, pulling him so that Jackson is on his lap again, back flush against Mark's chest.

Mark traces his fingers over Jackson’s swollen vulva, pats over the dark, wet curls of hair to slide between Jackson’s inner lips, slipping his fingers to where they are connected, pressing the calloused pads of his fingers against the flushed, exposed nub of his clitoris. Jackson makes a low, keening sound, grasping at the back of Mark’s head, threading his fingers through Mark’s hair, gasping hitch-breathed and sweet as Mark’s fingers tilt him over the precipice, clenching hard and tight around Mark’s knot and cock as he cums. Mark’s clever fingers do not let him rest, teasing him over the crest of the wave of his orgasm time and time again until Jackson gives a soft, almost-sobbing kind of sound, one of his trembling hands coming to catch Mark’s fingers, whimpering as he pulls them away, still shivering from his orgasm. Their hands lay intertwined on Jackson’s stomach as there is another release of cum, another slick clench of Jackson’s pussy, and Jackson shivers as he leans back, resting his weight against Mark’s lean chest and shoulders.

“Hyung, baobei, gege, please —” Jackson babbles, gasping as Mark’s cock gives another twitch and another release of cum, Mark’s fingers curling over Jackson’s stomach, teething lazily at Jackson’s neck, his low rumbling purr reverberating through both of them, “— can we lay down? It’s so big, ah, please —”

Mark nips at Jackson’s skin, and thinks about being mean, thinks about thrusting into Jackson, make him clench and cum around his knot again. But — the worst of the haze has lifted, calmed by release and closeness and care, and so Mark huffs instead, gently maneuvers both of them down with Jackson in front of him, snugly spooning them together. Jackson sighs in relief, gratefully accepting Mark’s offered arm as a pillow.

As Mark releases inside Jackson again, Jackson’s lashes merely flutter, his hips twitching slightly, his cunt snug and tight and warm around Mark’s knot. Mark traces his hand down Jackson’s skin, his touch soft and soothing down over Jackson’s flat chest, his defined abs, curved waist, and thick thighs. At the petting, Jackson gives a low, pleased hum, soon rumbling into that lovely purr of his, the hoarse and raspy one, cool and soothing and all Jackson. Mark's eyes flutter at that, at the content, gentle sound of Jackson’s raspy purr. That sound, that vibration coursing through them, and the warm feel of Jackson snug around him, of Mark’s knot having been taken, stills the worst of the wild and feral thing in him. He’ll have to knot Jackson once more to truly get the fever out of his blood, but the second time can be slower, more deliberate. And, on top of that, his words have returned. He murmurs a gentle string of praise, a piece of a Chinese poem, against Jackson’s shoulder and feels Jackson sigh in satisfaction at the words.

He intertwines their fingers again, gently laying them to curl over Jackson’s stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Gaga?” Mark murmurs, in mandarin, stroking his thumb over the hair on Jackson’s stomach.

“Tell you what?” Jackson says, playing dumb in that way he does sometimes when he wields the _dumb foreigner_ card like a hammer. Mark tsks, bites at Jackson’s neck, enough so that Jackson gives a low, overblown _ow_ , at least until Mark presses both their hands down on Jackson’s stomach, making him gasp and twitch as he’s forced to clench down over Mark’s knot, “ _Stop_ that.”

“Then talk,” Mark mutters, pressing a kiss right below Jackson’s ear.

There is a beat of silence, but it’s a purposeful sort of silence, the kind where something waits at the end of it, so Mark doesn’t push it. Not yet. After a while, Jackson sighs, muttering something under his breath as there is another gush of cum released inside of him, a bit less forceful this time.

“I’m not a —” Jackson sighs, shifting his weight to press his plush behind against Mark’s hips, “Look, I’m not a very _good_ omega, alright? I’ve never been very good at it. Even if I count as one back home, I’ve always preferred leaning into the beta-side, you know?” he exhales, shaking his head minutely where it lays against Mark’s arm, “I’m a better beta than an omega, so why would I talk about it? It’s just setting people up for disappointment, expecting an omega, and then getting — well — _me_.”

Mark grumbles a bit, “You’re a good omega,” he presses a kiss against Jackson’s neck, “Very good omega.”

"You're just saying that because you're literally knot-deep inside me, you ass," Jackson tsks, rolling his eyes, “Even a shitty omega can take a knot. But like, I’m not... I’m just not good at the other things, at the caring and the gentleness. So it was just... easier, to be a beta. And, like, it's not _wrong_. I really feel like I am both. Like it’s not like I'm not — hm — I'm _both_. I'm _neither_."

"I'm sorry then," Mark murmurs, “For you having to choose to be one of them tonight.“ Jackson gives a glance over his shoulder, smiles a bit, strokes a thumb over the line of their connected hands.

"That’s not really it, hyung. I like being able to do this, because it feels good, and because it helps you. I _want_ this, and I’ll want your knot again, in a couple of minutes, when it’s —" Jackson shifts his weight, gasping as he is still locked tight onto Mark’s knot, "Fuck, your _fucking_ knot. Make that _half an hour_. How is it this big? You're such a lean fucker, how do you not fall over while walking if this fucking monster just hangs out between your legs —"

"Gonna knot you again," Mark murmurs, thrilling a bit at the thought, at pushing Jackson down and fuck him full again, slick and cum so copious it’ll squelch out of him with each thrust, “Gonna keep you on my knot the entire night, fill you up.”

"I know you will, hyung." Jackson smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he gives his adorable, close-lipped quirked smile, lilts his voice into something that sounds like an omega from a porno, "Such a _good_ alpha, making such a pretty nest to fuck me in, knotting me so well." Mark tries to stop the blush spreading on his face, but as he burrows his face into Jackson’s hair, he knows by Jackson’s delighted giggle that he failed to hide it.

“Don’t tease me,” Mark mutters, tightening his hold on Jackson, “I’m _rutting_.”

“I’m aware,” Jackson answers dryly, clenching down deliberately around Mark’s cock, another twitch of cum spilling into him. Mark whines a bit at being teased, in his own nest, by an omega stinking like _him_.

“Stop that. Purr for me instead?” he nuzzles into Jackson’s hair, “Please, a-Jia’er?” 

Jackson laughs, loud and bright and weird before his chest rumbles into the raspy loveliness of his purr, the content one, the one that tells Mark he did a good job, that he’s _doing_ a good job.

Okay, so no flips, no feats of strength, and not killing anything. But what Mark _can_ do is stay here, stay steady and warm. And so, that's what he does, curls his body protectively around Jackson’s body. And Jackson’s purr deepens, strengthens, and envelopes them both.

**Author's Note:**

> look, i am always looking to descend further and further down and after writing mpreg, ABO just feels like the next natural step you know?
> 
> I rewrote this TWICE and that is about two more times than i wanted to edit an abo piece that was just supposed to be fun and hot. and of course i decided to write mark, a character i struggle to write _so much_. sigh. anyway. here it is! i hope it was fun to read!
> 
> if you liked it, please leave a review! it keeps the motivation high, and keeps me pushing the Filth Agenda in all our favourite GOT7 tag.
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19) If you want to ask me questions about something, ask me on [CuriousCat!](https://curiouscat.qa/Syster19)


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